For My Mother

 For My Mother

When ever I think of writing 

Anything about my mother

I find the task overwhelming. 

Some emotions are beyond expression. 

How distant her memory feels.

Yet as fresh as petals of a rose,

Washed in spring rain.

Soft are her footsteps,

As she enters my heart,

Leaves a tender faint touch

And disappears,

As unceremoniously 

As it first appeared. 

Alone I am left to recall her again

Or let it recede in the ocean of thoughts.

It is the color of her love

That never fades.

It is that miracle of love

That I pass on to my children.